Harkness – MacGillivray Stories

Ruaridh’s drudgery and lack of female companionship pushed him to seek solace in the darkness of ‘Uisge beatha’, that is, Scotch whisky. He wasn’t alone in his quest, as he was often joined by his friends, the island’s men. They used to always meet at the old Galmisdale tavern, not far from Ruaridh’s croft.   

Ruaridh and his friends were not rich; and yet, they were not like some islanders who were so poor and sick they were barely alive. One such woman was old Moire McQuarrie. As an example, they were drinking and talking about the poor of the island, especially old Moire McQuarrie. She was a second cousin of Mary MacKay, Ruaridh’s neighbour.

“Dae yi waant anither dram of whisky,” Ruaridh asked Angus. They sat in the old tavern sipping whisky and sucking on their pipes. 

“Aye. That wull be th’ lest drink fur me, ah hae tae git hame tae mah guidwife. She is waiting fur me.” 

“Ach! Let her wait! It’s a woman’s jab tae wait on a man ‘n’ serve him. It’s written in th’ Scripture,”¹ Ruaridh said as he blew some smoke rings.

“Hae ye heard aboot poor auld Moire MacQuarrie? Thay say she haes nae git lang left in this world,“ Angus said changing the subject.   

“Nae, whits wrong with her?” Ruaridh asked.

“What’s wrong wi’ her!? She haes bin lying in her bed these ten years; in that auld hoose oan th’ hillside, that looks mair lik’ an overgrown mound of earth than a cottage. It does nae hae ony windows, bit thare is enough light fur o’ a’ th’ holes in th’ roof. Yi’ll need tae be a dwarf tae git inside. Th’ wee door is barely high enough tae allow a bairn tae get inside. Bit she does hae a windae, a nook in th’ wall. It gives her a sicht o’ th’ sea ‘n’ shore, ‘n’ th’ rocky Eilan Chasteil, whaur th’ Macleods wur slaughtered lang ago fur molesting oor wummin.

“It mak’s ye think – whit goes thro’ her mynd whin she is lying in bed a’ thae years, keekin thro’ th’ nook in th’ wall at th’ beach, island ‘n’ waves. Th’ wee nook in th’ wall is th’ ainlie communication she haes wi’ th’ world thae lest ten years!”

“Ah mind noo. Auld Mackay tellt me aboot her. Ach its’ true; th’ poor auld wifie. Thay say under her dingy blanket she’s juist skin ‘n’ bane; that she is awready a skeleton; sae th’ worms wull starve whin thay bury her. Thay say her auld blanket haes th’ colour o’ graveyard earth, which wull soon replace th’ blanket o’ th’ poor auld soul. Thay say her face haes awready taken oan th’ features o’ a corpse, sallow ‘n’ pointy, wrought by disease ‘n’ famine.

“‘N’ yit she wis wance a fine-looking wifie; wance juist as bonny as her twa daughters, Iseabail ‘n’ Sheena. Iseabail is a real beauty tae behold despite her young sixteen years wi’ her fair complexion, blue een, ‘n’ golden locks. Her young sister o’ twelve years is also a rare beauty o’ a lassie. Bit Iseabail is not as bonny as th’ wee lassie that bides neist tae mah cottage – the young Morag Mackay, wi’ her black flowing locks, jet black een, ‘n’ slim waist,” Ruaridh added.

“That is God’s truth. Young Morag mist be th’ prettiest lassie oan this island,” enthused Angus. “What wid nae a man gie tae tak’ her wee haun in his hand!” added Angus, becoming stirred at the thoughts forming in his mind. 

“Dae nae talk lik’ that aboot th’ wee lassie – she is juist a bairn. Ah wull ainlie warn ye this one time!” said Ruaridh gruffly, as if Angus had touched a raw nerve. He wouldn’t say it to his friend, but in his own mind the dainty and sweet Morag was already his young bride. 

Angus heeded Ruaridh’s warning; he didn’t want to spark his ire and end up like the three men who, one week before, had stood at the bar of the tavern drinking and joking. He recalled in his mind what had happened. 

“Nae wonder na man wull marry Ruaridh’s sister Flora. She haes a face lik’ a horse, ‘n’ her haunches ur as strong as a horse’s. Ye cuid sell yer horse ‘n’ fasten th’ plough tae her. She wid plough th’ potato field juist as guid as a horse,” said Duncan, one o’ th’ three men standing at th’ bar.

Duncan’s friend, Hector, joined in the joke,“She’s a strapping and strong wifie, there’s na doubt aboot that; it’s nae wunder thay ca’ Eigg, th’ ‘Isle o’ th’ Big Women’.² Flora mist be a direct descendant o’ th’ Amazonian warriors o’ Queen Moidart that slew ‘n’ beheaded Saint Donnan ‘n’ his monks. It’s nae true that ’twas th’ Vikings, as Ruaridh claims. Th’ Vikings didn’t sail ‘ere tae th’ Western Isles ’til th’ eighth century; Donnan wis murdered twa or three hundred years before.”³  The three men had started guffawing. They took another sip of their whiskies as if this was the best joke they had told all evening.

Ruaridh had turned around, his face white with anger.

“What urr ye saying! Ye wull tak’ that back, or ye wull soon ken th’ consequences!” he raged. 

“Oh tak’ it easy man. Ah wis actually complementing yer sister,” Duncan bantered, nae paying attention tae Ruaridh’s anger.

“I juist meant she hud a well-bred face, lik’ a well bred horse.” He added guffawing even mair raucously, sae that th’ three men hud tae haud oan tae each ither, sae as nae tae fall oan th’ flair laughing.⁴

But the joke didn’t last long. Ruaridh’s blood ran cold. He said, “I’m Ruaridh, the brother of Flora. What do ye say to that. Now you gonna die.”

Ruaridh hit Duncan hard right between the eyes. And he went down, but he surprised Ruaridh, by getting up with a knife and cutting off a piece of his ear.⁵ But Ruaridh picked up a heavy old oak chair and cracked it over the heads of all three men. The chair exploded into pieces. He then picked up two of the thick, oaken legs of the chair and beat the three men about their bodies and heads. The three men lay sprawling on the floor, trying to protect themselves with their arms. At this point, Angus interrupted his friend, saying, “It’s enough, Ruaridh, ye dinna want to kill them.”

Ruaridh threw down the legs of the chair and stormed out of the tavern fuming.

Ruaridh was a gentle man at most times, but he couldn’t stand any insults to his family, especially the women of his family. It seems that Morag was now under the protection of Ruaridh; Angus decided to change the subject so as not to end up like the three men still lying in their beds at home tending their broken bones. So Angus carried on talking about the poor old woman in the hovel on the hillside.  

“Poor auld Moire, she does nae git ony hulp fae th’ parish. While th’ ten years in whilk she haes bin bedridden she haes nae received a single farthing fae th’ Laird, wha haes grown fat fraw th’ rents he gets fraw us poor folk. Whiles th’ neighbours gie her charity, bit it’s nae enough, as thay hae sae little themself.  Bit thare ur many lik’ th’ auld wifie ‘n’ her daughter oan th’ island wha ur juist as poor. Th’ minister Swanson, ‘n’ his friend Ewan Miller th’ scientist hae visited her.  Th’ minister prayed fur her ‘n’ gave her some coins afore he left,” Angus added.⁶ 

Angus carried on, “I hear yer neighbours, th’ auld Mackays, hae gaen tae visit her, fur Moire is Mary’s seicont cousin. Thay dae nae think she haes lang left in this world. Thay wantae gie her some comfort in her lest hours oan this earth.”⁷ 

 “Weel, ah hud better be getting hame, we hae a solid day’s wirk th’morra ploughing th’ neep fields.”⁸ Angus said as he banged his pipe out in the grating of the fireplace before putting it in his waistcoat pocket.

 “Dae nae wirk too hard th’morra, or ye micht be too tired to tae tak’ a dram in th’ evening,” Ruaridh said jestingly.

“Cheerio to ye – dae nae drink awfy much – or ye wull nae be able tae walk home,” Angus replied carrying on the joking banter, as he left the old tavern.

Original English Translation

“Do you want another drink,” Ruaridh asked Angus, as they sat in the old tavern sipping whisky and sucking on their pipes. 
“Aye – that’ll be the last one for me, I have to get home to the wife, she’s waiting from me.”
“Ach! Let her wait – that’s a woman’s job to wait on a man,” Ruaridh said as he blew some smoke rings.
“Have you heard about poor old Moire McQuarrie, they say she hasn’t got long left,” Angus said changing the subject.   
“Nae, whits wrong with her?” Ruaridh asked.

“What’s wrong with her – she’s been lying in her bed these ten years, in that old hovel on the hillside, that looks more like a mound of overgrown earth than a cottage. It doesn’t have any windows, but there is enough light inside because of all the holes in the roof. Ye need to be a dwarf to get inside, the low chinky door is barely high enough to permit a child entrance into the small room inside. But she does have a sort of a window, a hole in the turf-wall, which gives her a grand peep of the sea and shore, and the rocky Eilan Chasteil, where the MacLeods were slaughtered long ago for molesting our women.

“It makes ye think – what goes through her mind when she’s lying in bed all these years, looking through the little hole in the wall at the same scene of beach, island and waves. The little hole in the wall is the only communication the poor creature has had with the world these last ten weary years!”

“Ach it’s true – the poor old woman – they say under her dingy blanket she’s just skin and bone – that she’s already a skeleton, so the worms will starve when they bury her. They say the dirty blanket has the colour of graveyard earth, which will soon replace the blanket of the poor old soul.

“They say her face has already taken on the features of a corpse, sallow and sharp, wrought by disease and famine. And yet she was once a fine-looking woman, once just as pretty as her sixteen year old daughter Iseabail who is a real beauty to behold, with her fair complexion, blue eyes, and golden hair. But she is not as beautiful as the wee girl that lives nearby my croft, the young Morag, with her black flowing hair, jet black eyes, and slim waist,” Ruaridh added.

Sources

1.  ^{Ephesians 5:22-33.} ↩︎
2.  ^{Gaelic: ‘Eilean nam Ban Mora.’} ↩︎
3.  ^{Urquhart, and Ellington, 1987, p. 7.} ↩︎
4.  ^{https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/835061-i-shall-be-much-obliged-to-you-cousin-if-you Read: 3 April 2022.} ↩︎
5. ^{Inspired by Johnny Cash’s “A Boy Named Sue”.} ↩︎
6.  ^{“Poor old Moire, she doesn’t get any help from the parish. During the ten years in which she has been bed-ridden she has not received a single farthing from the Laird, who has grown fat from the rents he extracts from us poor folk. Sometimes the neighbours give her and her family charity, but it’s not enough, as they have so little to spare.  But there are many like the old woman and her daughter on the island just as poor.
   The Minister Swanson, together with his friend Ewan Miller the scientist, have visited her.  The minister prayed for her and gave her some coins before he left,” Angus added.} ↩︎
7.  ^{“I hear your neighbours the old MacKays have gone to visit her, as Moire is Mary’s second cousin. They don’t think she has long left in this world, so they want to give her some comfort in her last hours on this earth.”} ↩︎
8.  ^{“Well, I had better be getting home, we have a hard day’s work tomorrow ploughing the potato fields.”} ↩︎