THE CHILDREN OF LOCHANDEE

GWEN KIRKWOOD

In 1960s Scotland, the farming industry is on the brink of huge changes, becoming more mechanised and less dependent on manpower. At Lochandee, though, it is a time of hope and promise for the future.

Ross and Rachel Maxwell have every reason to be proud of their expanding family. Their daughter Bridie and her husband Nick are happily married, and working hard to build up their own farm. Eldest son Conan’s transport business is prospering, and he plans to venture in to the burgeoning tourist industry.

The Maxwells’ youngest son, Ewan, is showing the same keen interest in farming as they did at his age. But there is a cloud on the horizon –a young student, Gerda Fritz-Allan, who seems to have caught his eye. Beautiful, ambitious and utterly selfish, she has the power to wreak untold damage, changing the lives of the Maxwell family for ever … 

Chapter One

Rachel felt an unexpected shiver tingle down her spine. Why, she wondered uneasily. Subconsciously her gaze was drawn to the slender, swaying figure of one of the young women from the teacher training college. Rachel had always had an uncanny instinct where the welfare of her family was concerned, but she was not given to dramatic flights of fancy. She gave herself a mental shake. Still, a frisson of unease lingered.

This was a happy occasion – a gathering of family and friends in the familiar surroundings of the Lochandee Village Hall. They were celebrating the coming of age of her youngest son and her granddaughter, Ewan and Lucy. They had been born within a couple of weeks of each other and a joint celebration had seemed a good idea. They were both at colleges in Ayr and consequently had several mutual friends.

It had been a shock when she first discovered Lucy was her granddaughter, the child fathered by her eldest son. Conan himself had never dreamt his wild moment of passion, kindled by his impending departure for the RAF, had resulted in the birth of a little girl. Lucy was almost 12 years old before her mother had confided in anyone.

Even then Beth had only divulged her secret because she knew she was dying. She had not wanted to leave her child alone, unprotected and without a mother’s guidance. She had been beset with fears that the close friendship which Ewan and Lucy shared might blossom into a deeper relationship as they grew older. She dare not take her secret to the grave leaving Lucy unaware that her real father was not Harry Mason, the man who had adored her. Harry had died suddenly and Beth’s grief had been deep, but she had been glad he had never suffered the heartbreak of discovering Lucy was not his child. He had never known she had committed that single fateful act of infidelity with his young friend, Conan Maxwell. Beth had worked at Lochandee and Rachel had known her most of her life. She had valued her help as a maid, but friendship and respect for each other had grown over the years.

We must have been blind not to see the family resemblance, Rachel reflected now, as she had done many times in the past. She watched with pride and pleasure as Ewan and Lucy circled the floor together, smiling, radiating the warmth generated by long-standing friendship and shared memories. Yet even in the family their true relationship to each other was rarely mentioned. She supposed it was what was known as a skeleton in the family’s cupboard. Thankfully, it did not seem to have affected Lucy. She had grown into a pleasant, well-adjusted young woman, working hard at her music and her teacher training course, eager to fulfil the dream Harry Mason had cherished for her future. She was kind and thoughtful too. It was her kindness which had prompted her to invite the girl with the curtain of long blonde hair. Apparently Gerda Fritz-Allan was not one of her own particular friends but she had recently joined a study group at the teacher training college. All the others in the group had already been invited to the party and Lucy had felt it would be unkind to leave her out.

The girl had a rare beauty and Rachel frowned, wondering why she should have such an uneasy feeling about her. Was it her affectedly child-like voice and fluttering hands which irritated? She put such silly whims out of her head. They would probably never see Gerda Fritz-Allan again after the young people returned to college tomorrow.

Rachel felt her heart swell with pride and she turned her attention to other members of her family as they joined the dancing. Bridie, her only daughter, and Nick, the son-in-law who’d earned her respect, and her affection. They danced well together, as they did most other things, including their singing and their work at Lochandee. Other young couples began to dance, fellow students of Ewan from Auchincruive Agricultural College and Lucy’s friends from Craigie Teacher Training College. Rachel sighed. They all looked so happy and carefree. She hoped life would continue that way for all of them in a world free from wars.

Her eye was caught by Conan and Fiona. What a handsome couple they made, but what a pity they had not been blessed with children of their own. They had been married seven years now and Conan would be 40 in May. Fiona was 37. Secretly, Rachel was still a little in awe of her daughter-in-law. She was such a clever and capable young woman and she had proven a great asset and partner to Conan, helping him build up his business to a whole fleet of touring coaches and keeping his home so beautifully. She had excellent taste and the new extension to the house had made it a good investment, as well as a desirable residence. Far more important, Fiona had made a wonderful stepmother to Lucy. She would always have Rachel’s heartfelt gratitude for that, and yet she almost envied the closeness of their relationship. They were more like sisters in spite of the years between them.

‘Why are you frowning, lassie? You’ll spoil your bonnie face.’ Rachel looked up at the sound of her husband’s deep voice and her heartbeat quickened. Even after all these years Ross’s smile still had the same effect on her.

‘I’m scarcely a lassie any more,’ she chuckled. ‘Watching all these young folks really makes me feel my age.’

‘Och, we’re as young as we feel, and you’re as lithe as any o’ them. I’m not 60 until November, remember, and I only feel half of that when I see that wee dimple in your cheek. Come on, let’s show them how to dance. Some of the youngsters these days dinna know how to begin.’

‘I know. Ewan was warning me that the second half of the party will be music to suit his generation. “Rock and roll”, or something, he called it.’

‘I think it’s some sort of jiving they do nowadays. All the more reason for us to enjoy this half. Listen, they’re playing the Pride of Erin Waltz.’ He drew her on to the floor and Rachel felt her spirits rise, her fears and apprehensions forgotten, at least for the present.

A couple of hours later, Rachel, Bridie and Fiona cleared the remnants of the buffet meal away into the small kitchen at the back of the village hall.

‘Well, they certainly enjoyed that!’ Fiona exclaimed. ‘I thought there were mountains of food but it’s nearly all gone. I could never cook like you two,’ she added with a wistful sigh.

‘Och, Fiona, there’s nothing to cooking when you’ve done it all your life,’ Rachel reassured her. ‘You can do so many other things that I’ve never heard of.’

‘Yes, like organising,’ Bridie grinned. ‘I’d never have thought of setting the food out as a buffet but it worked splendidly.’

‘Mmm. We’d never have managed to feed so many at a sit-down meal.’ Rachel nodded agreement. ‘Bridie, your father and I are going home as soon as we have seen Lucy and Ewan cut the cake. I got the impression Ewan thinks their friends will relax and enjoy it better if we are out of the way. I hope they’ll not get too boisterous,’ she added anxiously.

‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ Bridie smiled. ‘I think they only want some of the rowdy music that Dad calls a “hell of a din”. Fiona and Conan will keep an eye on them. We’ll stay on for a while, but I expect the twins will be ready for bed long before the finish.’

‘I’m sure they will – after all, they’re only seven. But it was good to see them joining in the dancing. Your father’s sure they’ve inherited a good sense of rhythm from you and Nick. He says Alicia can sing beautifully.’

‘Mmm, Max isn’t bad either,’ Bridie reflected. ‘I wish we still had a choir at the kirk for him to get some practice. Nick thinks we should send him for piano lessons, but I’m afraid of putting him off, like Dad did with Ewan.’

‘Oh, it wasna your father’s fault,’ Rachel protested. ‘Ewan simply didn’t have any musical ability and didn’t want to be bothered. All he has ever wanted to do is farm Nether Rullion.’ She smiled, the dimple flashing, making her look younger than her 57 years. It’s almost a mischievous smile, Bridie thought affectionately. ‘He can’t wait to finish college and get on with breeding a cow good enough to beat your Lochandee herd.’

‘Oh! Oh! That’s what he thinks, is it! Nick and I will give him a run for his money then. We got a lovely little heifer calf from the Star family last week.’

‘Well, Ewan seemed well pleased to get a brand-new tractor for his birthday,’ Fiona remarked, joining the conversation as she deftly packed away the remains of the food.

‘I’m afraid we were needing one anyway,’ Rachel said ruefully. ‘The old Ferguson had packed up, in spite of Nick’s skill at keeping the machines in order. We did get Ewan a decent watch for something more personal though.’

‘Well, according to Conan, Ewan’s over the moon about the tractor.’

‘I overheard that beautiful blonde girl saying she thought it was a weird sort of a present,’ Bridie chuckled. ‘She thought he wouldn’t get much pleasure out of a thing like that. I gather she doesn’t know much about farming, or she’d realise what an essential piece of equipment it is for anyone as keen as Ewan. Are you and Dad taking him into partnership now he’s reached the … er … age of discretion?’ she asked.

‘We had intended to, but your dad says he’ll wait until Ewan leaves college and learns what real farming and hard work are all about.’

‘Oh, I can just imagine Dad saying that!’ Bridie laughed. ‘Anyway that will only be another six months now. Ewan’s course finishes at the end of June, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, but one or two of his fellow students are talking about going abroad before they settle down.’ Rachel frowned thoughtfully.

‘And you think Ewan might join them?’

‘He says not, but we’ll wait and see. He seems younger for his years than you and Conan did at 21. I suppose the war made you both grow up too quickly. Ewan’s still impressionable and there’s no telling what distractions he might encounter.’

The three of them made their way back into the main hall but Lucy waylaid them at the door.

‘Bridie, we’re just persuading Nick to give us a song but he says he needs you to sing with him.’

‘I’m sure your friends won’t want to listen to our kind of music, Lucy.’

‘Of course they will. I could listen to you both singing all night.’

‘Yes, so could I,’ Fiona said. ‘Do sing, Bridie.’

‘All right, if you and Dad will accompany us, Lucy? Do you have your accordion here?’

‘No, but I could borrow one from Neville in the band.’

They had sung a couple of Scottish songs when Ewan called, ‘Sing us some of the more modern songs please, Bridie?’

‘What about Que sera, sera?’ Nick responded. ‘Isn’t that appropriate for all you youngsters on the threshold of life?’

‘That went down well,’ Bridie said in surprise. ‘For last, what about the one that young American lorry driver sings?’

‘Elvis Presley? Wooden Heart? OK.’

When the song drew to a close they were greeted with enthusiastic calls for more, but Gerda Fritz-Allan did not join in. She was bored by someone else being centre stage. She wondered what had persuaded her to accept an invitation for a visit to the country when she could have been enjoying herself at a dance in Glasgow. Then she saw Nick stepping lightly down from the little stage and taking his small daughters gently by the hand. Margaret was shy but Alicia loved to sing. Lucy added encouragement and softly played an accompaniment while they sang How Much is That Doggie in the Window?.

Gerda was standing behind Fiona and Rachel.

‘For God’s sake,’ she muttered. ‘I didn’t think I was coming to a Sunday school party!’

‘I’m pleased not everyone thinks like she does,’ Rachel whispered to Fiona, as the applause burst forth spontaneously making the twins hide their heads shyly.

‘One more to finish then we’ll leave you all to dance the night away,’ Nick announced. ‘How about, I Could Have Danced All Night?’ He and Bridie exchanged a secret smile, which Gerda did not miss. The song was one of their special favourites.

They left the platform to loud applause as the bandleader struck up the dancing again, announcing a ladies’ choice to get the ball rolling. Bridie was astonished when the girl with the long blonde hair made a beeline for Nick. She saw the surprise on his face, but then he was a fine figure of a man, she thought proudly, especially with his new fitted jacket with the split at the back. It accentuated his firm muscular figure and his long legs. Even so he was considerably older than Ewan and his friends. Nick and Conan had been 17 and had joined the RAF when Ewan was born – a big surprise to everyone, not least Ross and Rachel.

As soon as the dance finished, Nick extricated himself and crossed the floor to where Bridie waited with the twins. He was frowning slightly.

‘There’s home we’ll go now.’

Bridie raised her eyebrows. She could always tell when he fell back into the Welsh lilt of his youth that something had upset or excited him.

Walking to the car he said quietly, ‘A flirtatious piece, that one is. Too much experience, she has.’

Bridie nodded, knowing he meant the girl named Gerda Fritz-Allan. ‘I think she’s from the city. Fiona says she lives with her father. She doesn’t know whether the girl’s mother is dead or if the parents are divorced, but I got the impression Fiona felt she needed a mother’s guidance. Perhaps she’s had a go at flirting with Conan?’ She grinned. ‘Maybe she fancies older men – especially handsome married ones …’

‘Flattering me, are you, girl?’ Nick chuckled softly and squeezed her hand.

‘Why are you two holding hands?’ Margaret asked innocently as they reached the car and turned to wait for Nick to unlock it. ‘Hurry up, Daddy, I’m frozen.’

‘So am I,’ echoed Alicia.

‘Well, sweethearts, it is February and we did tell you to wear your scarves and gloves,’ Bridie reminded her small daughters. ‘But you did look very pretty in your red velvet dresses.’

‘Yes. Grandpa said we were the best-dressed young ladies at the party, except for Granny,’ Margaret said solemnly.

‘Blondie wouldn’t have been too pleased to hear that,’ Nick whispered in Bridie’s ear. ‘Thought she was the bee’s knees, she did, in that revealing black dress. Far too old for her, it was, in my opinion.’

There had been a hard frost overnight and, as Bridie had feared, some of the dairy equipment was frozen and had to be thawed out with kettles of boiling water before the milking could begin.

‘Thank goodness for the Aga and plenty of hot water,’ she muttered, stifling a yawn and wondering what time the party had ended.

‘I’ll take the big kettle and thaw the dairy pipes if you can get the milking machines on,’ Nick volunteered.

‘Thanks, darling. Sometimes I’ll bet you wish you’d never seen Lochandee.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, it has its compensations …’ He gave her a wolfish grin and slipped an arm around her waist. ‘Like when I’m tucked up in a nice warm bed with this soft little bottom to cuddle.’ He gave her rear end a gentle pat.

‘I thought you’d had enough of that sort of thing last night, Nicholas Jones,’ she retorted with mock severity.

‘A-ah, there’s never enough I get of you, cariad.’ He gave an unexpected yawn. ‘It’s a pity cows can’t milk themselves on Sundays though.’

It was later than usual when Bridie finally returned to the house when the milking was finished and the cows fed and cleaned for the day. The telephone was ringing.

‘Hello …’ she answered breathlessly.

‘A-ah, Bridie, I was just about to hang up. Have you had a bad morning with frozen pipes?’

‘I’m afraid so, Mum. How are things at Nether Rullion? Are you very tired after the party?’

‘Not too bad. Ewan was up and out at the milking parlour with your father and Peter, but his friends are just surfacing so I’m waiting to dish up their porridge and cook bacon and eggs – at least for those who want it.’

‘Mmm, that makes me hungry. We haven’t had ours yet.’

‘I mustn’t keep you then. I just thought Fiona might need a helping hand. The girls want to see round the farm with Ewan’s friends. I’m not sure whether it’s the animals or the boys that’s the attraction,’ she added with a laugh. ‘Anyway Conan is bringing them over here in about an hour and he says he is taking the whole lot of them back to his place for lunch.’

‘Gosh! Fiona will be busy with the whole lot to feed.’

‘Yes, I know but Conan thought it would save time. It gets dark so early and it looks as though it will be hard frost again. He says the bus doesn’t hold the road like the Land Rover does so he wants to get them back safely and in good time.’

‘Mmm, I can understand he’ll not want to be too late on that road in the dark if it’s icy. I’ll go over and help. Nick will pick up the children from Sunday school and bring them over to Fiona’s. Does she want any food? I could take some apple pies out of my freezer. You’ll have to get one, Mum. They’re wonderful for all sorts of things.’

‘I’m sure they can’t be as good as fresh pies,’ Rachel said doubtfully, ‘but I expect Fiona will be glad of any contributions.’

‘I doubt if Ewan’s friends will know the difference,’ Bridie said drily.

‘Maybe not. I cooked a big piece of ham to feed the boys so I said I would slice it up and send it back with Conan. Fiona sounded grateful for that. It’s strange that she is so capable when it comes to making big decisions and dealing with all sorts of crises concerning the business, yet catering for a group of hungry students seems to worry her.’

‘Yes, maybe I should persuade her to invest in a deep-freeze, then she can fill it up at leisure and always be prepared – even when her mother-in-law comes to tea!’

‘Oh, Bridie! I’m not that bad, am I? I don’t criticise, and I’ve always thought Fiona makes Conan an excellent wife.’

‘I was only teasing, Mum,’ Bridie chuckled. ‘When the time comes I just hope Ewan gets a wife who fits into the family circle as well as Fiona does.’

‘Yes,’ Rachel sighed happily. ‘I often think how lucky we are, your father and I. We felt so proud of you all last night.’

Fiona had worried about the sleeping arrangements for ten young women and only three bedrooms, but Lucy had assured her they were all used to making do with sleeping bags when the occasion demanded.

‘We’ll toss a coin for who gets the beds,’ she had said cheerfully, but by mutual consent the girls had all agreed that Gerda should certainly have a bed. She was still new to their particular group and they were somewhat in awe of her beauty, fragile air and expensive clothes. It just didn’t seem fitting to ask her to rough it as they were prepared to do.

They had thoroughly enjoyed the party and now looked forward to rounding off the weekend with a walk in the crisp, frosty air.

‘It’s such lovely countryside,’ one of the girls remarked. ‘You’re really lucky, Lucy.’

‘I know, I love it too,’ Lucy smiled. None of them noticed Gerda’s grimace of distaste, but Fiona did. She felt a surge of relief. The girl was not one of Lucy’s special friends so it was unlikely they would see her again if she didn’t like the country.

As though to confirm her opinion, Gerda demanded, ‘Do we have to go looking at animals and trailing round a muddy farmyard?’

‘Even if ye dinna want tae see the farm, Gerda, I’d hae thocht ye’d wanna hae anither wee flirt wi’ yon birthday laddie,’ one of the girls said in mock astonishment. She gave a wicked wink to one of her friends. ‘Ye’ll no want tae miss checking oot Ewan’s inheritance,’ she drawled, knowing full well her exaggeration of a broad Scots accent always annoyed Gerda.

‘Inheritance?’ Gerda frowned uncertainly. ‘What inheritance? You talk as though he’s a laird, or something.’

‘Well, so he is. Laird o’ his ain wee patch anyway.’

‘Of course Ewan isn’t a laird,’ Lucy intervened quickly, alarmed by the sudden flare of interest in Gerda’s pale blue eyes. ‘Betty’s only teasing.’

Betty grinned unrepentantly, little realising the seeds she had unwittingly sown in Gerda’s mind.

Chapter Two

Usually Gerda’s questions would have exasperated Ewan in a very short time, but he was flattered by the interest she was showing in himself and the farm. He knew most of his friends were attracted by her so he basked in her undivided attention, answering even her most stupid questions with patient tolerance. He was aware of Lucy’s eyes on them, amused, then amazed, her eyebrows raised incredulously. He knew exactly when her amusement turned to irritation and even contempt, and he felt uncomfortable. Lucy was usually the least critical of people.

Surely no one could be so ignorant of country life as to believe chickens popped out of an egg the moment it was laid, Lucy thought. Even more ridiculous was the prospect of bulls producing milk just as cows did. She wanted to ask Gerda if she would expect a man to suckle babies. Surely everyone knew a cow had to have a calf before she produced milk? These were things Lucy had known all her life, having spent most of her childhood with Ewan at Glens of Lochandee, but Gerda did not lack intelligence. Was she pretending, or trying to make a fool of Ewan?

Lucy realised she could barely conceal her irritation as Gerda continued to hog his attention, clinging to his arm and gesticulating theatrically, exclaiming in the high-pitched little girl voice she often used to gain attention. She had hoped Christine Greig, her best friend, and Ewan would be attracted to each other during the weekend here at Nether Rullion. Chris was so knowledgeable about animals, farming and the life they involved.

She and Chris had become friends as soon as they started at CraigieTeacherTrainingCollege. They were both country girls with interests in common. Chris was splendid with animals and children, but quiet and rarely made the most of her own attractions. She had three older brothers who teased unmercifully and a mother who seemed continually harassed with caring for her family, house and poultry. So people had to take Chris as they found her and impressionable young men never seemed to look beneath the surface, Lucy thought with a rare flash of anger.

‘What they see is what they get with me,’ Chris would grin merrily when the other girls tried to persuade her to use eye-shadow and mascara for the Saturday night dances.

Once, she had confided to Lucy, ‘I would much rather have attended the agricultural college than trained as a teacher, but Mother insisted I must have a career that had nothing to do with farming. I couldn’t stand a man who expected me to look like a film star all day.’

When Lucy embarked on her career she experienced a wider world away from the village of Lochandee, the farm and the garage. She had soon realised she had reason to be grateful for Fiona’s guidance. She had advised her on her clothes and on the discreet makeup she wore, the expert styling of her curly hair, and even the way she walked and talked to suit the occasion. These things had given her confidence and an air of calm, particularly when she was feeling as quivery as a table jelly inside.

Lucy visited Chris’s family quite often because their farm was only ten miles south of Ayr. She’d heard Mrs Greig’s frequent comment, ‘Three lads to be put into farms are more than enough. Our Chris needs to get hersel’ a good job and earn some money. I dinna want her tae marry a farmer. It’s all work an’ no play.’ Reluctantly, Chris had bowed to her mother’s wishes, but Lucy knew her heart was as much in farming as Ewan’s.

Ewan showed everyone round the milking parlour and the dairy. The huge tank not only held all the milk, but kept it refrigerated until the milk tanker arrived to take it to the creamery. Chris was genuinely impressed and interested. Her parents milked their cows in a byre and the milk was collected in ten-gallon churns which had to be carted to the end of the road every day in readiness for the milk lorry. She wanted to ask Ewan all about the various tubes and lines and how it all worked, but Gerda was clinging to him like a limpet.

‘My brothers would love to see round here,’ she murmured to Lucy. ‘It must make the work a lot easier.’

‘Yes, I suppose it does,’ Lucy agreed. ‘I know the local farmers all think Ewan’s father was very far-sighted when he decided to go for a milking parlour and cubicle house instead of building a byre. There are quite a few springing up now, although Bridie still milks her cows in a byre at Glens of Lochandee. You’ll have to come to stay for another weekend, Chris – just the two of us – then you can see everything. Bridie reckons she can give her cows more individual attention in a byre, but I’ve heard her say she thinks it would be better if they didn’t need to be tied by the neck all winter.’

‘Mmm, I can’t believe that Ewan’s cows can just wander around the shed freely and feed themselves at the silage pit. Don’t they ever fight?’

‘Sometimes, but you’ll notice they’ve all had their horns removed so they can’t do so much damage to each other.’

‘A-ah yes, of course. I thought there was something different about them. I don’t suppose Gerda would even know they’d ever had horns!’

‘I’m sure she wouldn’t. I wonder what’s making her show such an interest. I can’t believe it’s genuine. She hates anything remotely smelly and she can’t stand the smallest bit of mud.’

Chris gave her friend a knowing look and opened her mouth to tell Lucy exactly why Gerda was interested in Ewan and his farm, but Lucy was frowning and didn’t catch her eye, so Chris closed her mouth and kept her opinion to herself. No doubt Gerda would soon lose interest in all things country, including Ewan. Even if the novelty lasted a while, surely Ewan would see she was only feigning interest?

In this she was wrong. Gerda made it her business to quiz Ewan’s closest friends on his prospects as a farmer. Of all the girls they knew, Gerda was the least likely to make a farmer’s wife, so they exaggerated his assets at every opportunity, teasing her unmercifully, never dreaming that Gerda would take them at their word. Mentally, she built up a picture of Ewan as a future country gentleman; so long as he had a wife like her to lead him, she preened secretly.

After the tour of Nether Rullion was over, Conan shepherded them all into the coach and back to Rullion Glen for lunch.

‘We’ll come over in the car and join you,’ Ross said. ‘We’ll need the car to get home for milking.’

Fiona, with the help of Bridie and the twins, had already set out huge bowls of soup, with crisp buttery rolls and a selection of cold meats, to be followed by apple pie and cream. The crowd of young folk chattered happily as they ate.

‘This has been the best weekend I’ve had since I started college,’ one of the young men announced. There were cheers of agreement.

When they were ready to leave, Lucy turned to hug Fiona.

‘You’ve given me a lovely birthday, Fiona. I can never thank you enough for the way you look after me,’ she said huskily. She turned to Conan and hugged him too. ‘Thanks for laying on the transport and chauffeuring us all around, Conan.’ She bent closer and whispered mischievously, ‘And thanks for being such a generous daddy.’

‘Och, you!’ Conan gave an affectionate pat on her neat little rear. They rarely mentioned their real relationship and Lucy knew he still found it difficult to realise he had sired a child when he was little more than a teenager himself. It had taken her some time to get over the shock too, but now she liked to tease occasionally. Conan knew it was a mark of their deepening affection and a mutual respect which had grown with the years, but above all he knew he had Fiona to thank for helping Lucy come to terms with the shocks and changes in her young life.

As soon as they were all seated on the bus, Gerda lost no time in leaning forward and poking Lucy’s shoulder.

‘I say, it’s a bit off to call your parents by their Christian names, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Lucy frowned, irritated by Gerda’s sharp finger and equally probing stare. She was one of those people who seemed to sense when there was something different and she took a delight in delving into things which did not concern her.

‘They’re Lucy’s adopted parents, as you know very well,’ Chris said abruptly.

‘Even so …’

‘Oh for goodness sake, Gerda, I knew both Conan and Fiona long before they adopted me. Anyway, Fiona is more like an elder sister to me than a stepmother.’

‘I suppose it would make her feel old if you called her Mummy. So … if they are only your adoptive parents you’re not really Ewan’s cousin? The two of you always seem so close? I thought there must be something going on between you …?’ When Lucy made no answer to the questions hanging in the air, she persisted. ‘You look quite like each other, at least I’ve sometimes thought so, but then I thought you really were related. I couldn’t help wondering …?’

‘Ewan and I were practically brought up together,’ Lucy snapped. ‘We’ve always been the best of friends, and I hope we always will be. Now will you sit back in your own seat and stop poking me in the back?’

Chris gave her a sideways glance and winked wickedly. She bit back a smile in case Gerda should see, but out of the side of her mouth, she whispered, ‘She’s jealous.’

‘Heaven forbid Ewan should ever be tempted in that direction,’ Lucy muttered with feeling.

‘Mmm … I can just imagine her tottering out to feed the chickens in her red toeless shoes with the three-inch heels,’ Chris grinned.

As the cold weather of February turned to spring, and onward to May, the countryside burgeoned with new life and the scent of blossom filled the hedgerows. Ewan longed to be back home at the farm, but he worked hard at his studies. He wanted to gain his diploma now that he was so near to finishing his course. He was looking forward to helping with the crops and to working with the fine Friesian herd which his father had built up at Nether Rullion. Although they sometimes argued when he wanted to change to more modern methods, he was grateful for his father’s wisdom and experience. Since he had been at college, he’d realised how fortunate he was to have the opportunity of returning home to Nether Rullion, with the prospect of farming it himself some day. Several of his fellow students were seeking employment, but some were going home to work with elder brothers, and wondering whether they would ever get a chance to farm on their own.

Ross was glad Ewan did not share the wanderlust of some of his fellow students. Although he did not feel his age, he knew he was not as fit as he had been when Conan was 21, or even a decade ago. He was looking forward to having Ewan to share some of the responsibilities and decisions. Most of all, he hoped he would take over some of the increasing piles of paperwork attached to their pedigree herd. All the calves were black and white, and each one had to be carefully sketched and coloured in with its respective markings. All this, plus the sire, dam and grandparents, together with their registration numbers, had to be done in duplicate and submitted to the breed society within a month of the calf’s birth. It was not a side of farming which Ross enjoyed and the older he got, the more he resented using up his valuable time and energy. Rachel dealt with all the farm accounts and paid the bills and he was grateful for that. Sometimes she relented and helped him sketch the calves and fill in the pedigrees, but it was not a chore she wanted to add to her own busy life on a regular basis.

‘I’m getting older too, you know,’ she remarked from time to time when she felt her husband needed a gentle reminder. ‘There are no maids to help in the house these days as there were before the war, and I like things to be clean and tidy for when the milk recorders arrive.’

Every month, a young woman came to stay at the farm overnight – sometimes two nights when there were a lot of cows milking. She weighed the milk from each cow at the evening and morning milkings, recording the results in ledgers and calculating the records for the month. In addition, she tested the butterfat from each animal, using special Gerber tubes and a portable centrifuge. These records were an essential requirement for a pedigree dairy herd. At the end of each lactation, the records helped in the selection of the best breeding animals, as well as adding value to a cow and to her progeny in the sale ring.

‘You could get rid of the hens then you’d have more time to do the pedigrees,’ Ross suggested on one occasion when he was exasperated with the number of calves he needed to draw.

‘Get rid of my poultry!’ Rachel was indignant. ‘They pay for the housekeeping, Peter’s wages and the petrol. Besides, I like having the chickens and hens – it’s better not to have all our eggs in one basket …’

Ross exploded with laughter and his ill humour vanished.

‘You know what I mean,’ Rachel chided, but the dimple at the corner of her mouth could not be hidden and she grinned at him. ‘Seriously, Ross. What if we had another outbreak of foot-and-mouth and lost all our cows again?’

‘Don’t even think about it!’ Ross growled in mock horror.

‘No, it’s too terrible to contemplate, I know. But about the pedigrees – I’m sure Peter would help you with sketching the calves and filling them in, if you asked him. He’s proven himself capable of most things we’ve asked him to do since we took over Nether Rullion, and he’s conscientious.’

‘Aye, you’re right there. I’ve never regretted taking a chance with Peter. I’m glad he decided not to return to Poland when the war was over. He keeps his wee cottage as neat and clean as a new pin too.’

‘Yes, it would have been nice if he’d met a suitable girl for a wife, but he seems content with his garden and vegetables in the summer and his wood carving in the winter.’

‘Aye, a wife might have led him astray. Did he tell you he was thinking of buying a second-hand car for himself?’

‘No, he’s never mentioned that to me. I did hear Conan telling him he could get a new Mini for four hundred and ninety-five pounds, nineteen shillings and threepence, now that the Chancellor has cut the purchase tax.’

‘It’s still a lot of money,’ Ross said gravely. ‘Peter was just asking Conan for advice. I think he’s keeping a lookout for a bargain for him.’

‘Maybe he’ll go out more if he gets a car.’

‘He might. I think I’d better wait for Ewan to come home and take over the pedigrees. He’s familiar with most of them already.’ He smiled reminiscently. ‘I reckon there’s going to be some healthy competition between Nether Rullion and Lochandee when Bridie and Ewan start showing and selling in the same ring at pedigree sales.’

‘So long as it stays as friendly rivalry it will be all right,’ Rachel grimaced. She did not welcome a family feud between her daughter and son. ‘Anyway half of Bridie’s cattle are still pedigree Ayrshires. She’s loath to change over to Friesians completely.’

‘I know.’ Ross grinned down at her and his eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘And I suspect you agree with her,’ he teased.

‘We-ell … Yes, I shall always have a soft spot for a good Ayrshire cow, and if you would admit the truth I suspect you do too, Ross Maxwell.’

‘They take a bit of beating for appearance, but we’ve to think about the economics these days. The Friesians do give better yields and eat more roughage. I’d hate to get too complacent, but I reckon we’ve been jolly lucky that things have gone so well for us since we bought Nether Rullion. I never imagined we’d get the loan for the land paid off in record time. It’s a great relief.’

‘Well, so far, the government have made sure we get a fair price for our produce since the war, even though they say the price of food in the shops is the lowest in Europe.’

‘It’s government policy to pay us a subsidy to encourage home production and keep the price to the consumers in check at the same time,’ Ross mused. ‘The idea is that the workers will be less likely to strike for higher wages if they can afford to eat well.’

‘I suppose that’s what Mr MacMillan meant when he said we had “never had it so good”,’ Rachel nodded, ‘but from what Fiona says, people want to afford more than food and clothes these days. She says some holidaymakers book for next year’s holiday as soon as this year’s is over. Perhaps we should think about having a little holiday once Ewan comes home …?’

‘A holiday! We …’ Ross stopped suddenly and stared at his wife, his keen glance searching her face. ‘You’re not feeling ill, are you, Rachel?’ he asked anxiously.

‘No, of course not, silly! I just thought it would be nice to have a few nights away together, just the two of us.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘We’ve never been on a holiday. Conan says the people who go on his buses really enjoy seeing all the sights and having their meals set before them every night.’

‘I think I’d be bored to tears riding around on a bus all day,’ Ross scoffed, ‘and so would you. Now, I’d better go and start the milking. The parlour’s made that job a lot easier so we should be thankful for that.’

‘It has,’ Rachel sighed, ‘but the milking still has to be done twice a day. I don’t suppose they’ll ever invent self-milking cows!’

At Glens of Lochandee Nick’s thoughts were running on similar lines to his mother-in-law’s.

‘I wonder whether your parents will take a holiday from the farm when Ewan comes home from college?’ he remarked as he and Bridie walked behind the ambling cows, bringing them in from the field for milking. ‘I think your mother has looked unusually tired recently.’

‘I can’t imagine my father on holiday,’ Bridie said, ‘but I’m sure it would do them both a lot of good if Conan could persuade them. By the way, did I tell you Lucy’s been offered a job at a school in Ayrshire when she finishes college?’

‘No! Are Fiona and Conan disappointed she’ll not be working nearer home?’

‘If they are, they would never say so,’ Bridie mused. ‘Fiona says that lovely blonde girl has been pestering Lucy to invite her down for a weekend, but they’re not particular friends. I think she irritates Lucy a bit.’

‘No wonder! Irritate me she would, that one. Dramatic, she is.’

Bridie’s eyes widened. Nick was not given to criticism and a return to his Welsh accent always reflected his feelings.

‘I thought all men automatically fell for beautiful blondes?’

‘Not this one, bach.’ He stepped closer and slipped an arm around Bridie’s waist. ‘All the woman I’m wanting, you are.’ He squeezed affectionately and she laughed up at him.

‘I’m glad to hear that, for I’ve no intention of letting you go, Nicholas Jones. Let’s see, how many years have we been married now …?’

‘September 1949, it was; 13 years this year and not a single regret have I had.’

‘That makes two of us, then. I think Fiona and Conan are well- matched too, in spite of the resistance they both put up when they were younger. I just wish they’d had children of their own …’

‘Maybe they don’t want any. They work so hard at the business. I believe that’s Conan’s baby.’

‘Yes, he’s always been ambitious, I know,’ Bridie sighed. ‘And they do everything together. That wouldn’t be possible if they had a family – not the travelling part, anyway.’

‘So is the blonde beauty coming down to stay, then? I must say I prefer Lucy’s friend from Ayrshire. Christine, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Christine Greig. Her father bought a Lochandee bull at the Castle Douglas sale a few years ago. He said he wouldn’t mind another, if it was going cheap!’

‘A satisfied customer then.’

‘Chris has three brothers, all keen on farming. Lucy told me they’re trying to rent another farm a few miles away. I have a sneaking feeling that she has a soft spot for the eldest brother. His name’s Donald but he gets called Don for short.’

‘She’ll not be thinking of getting married until she’s established herself in teaching, though, if I know Lucy?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. She’s a sensible lassie, and she listens to Fiona’s advice. Conan is thinking of buying her a wee car of her own if she passes all her examinations. I think both Conan and Fiona miss Lucy’s lively company about the house. And her music, of course. Perhaps they think she’ll come home more often if she has her own transport.’

‘I expect Ewan will be wanting a car of his own, then? The pair of them were always like twins – except for the music, of course,’ Nick reflected.

‘I hope Ewan has grown up enough not to want whatever Lucy gets.’ Bridie frowned. ‘Anyway he’ll be living at home and use Dad’s car when he needs one, I suppose.’

A little while later, Nick helped Bridie fasten the chains which kept the cows in their own stall along both sides of the long byre.

‘I wonder why Gerda Fritz-Allan wants to come down here again?’ he asked. ‘She didn’t seem like a country girl to me.’

‘I don’t know. She and Lucy are not exactly bosom pals.’ Bridie frowned. ‘I don’t think she has a very happy home life. Her mother went off with someone else when Gerda was 11. She was killed in a cable car accident soon afterwards. Apparently her father spends most of his time at his office. That’s what Lucy told Fiona anyway. I think she was feeling mean for not wanting to invite Gerda for another weekend.’

‘There’s kindly, she is, our Lucy,’ Nick said warmly. ‘But she’s not a bit like the blonde siren.’

‘No-o. I think Ewan must be feeling sorry for Gerda as well. He’s been putting on the pressure with Lucy to invite her down once the exams are over.’

‘Sorry? Feeling sorry, is it!’ Nick gave a mocking guffaw. ‘That’s not how I’d describe Ewan’s feeling for Miss Gerda Fritz-Allan, from what I saw of them.’

Bridie frowned, but she didn’t reply. Nick was a shrewd judge of people and situations but in Ewan’s case she hoped fervently he was wrong.