Harkness – MacGillivray Stories

Morag had few friends, but she had made friends with Sheena MacQuarrie. No one liked the MacQuarries that lived in the ‘black’ houses as they were so poor and ‘dirty’. The MacQuarries didn’t care much about the minister’s admonishments of the evils of relationships not consecrated by God and illegitimate children, as most of the MacQuarries were born ‘out of wedlock’, as was Sheena. So both Morag and Sheena felt a sisterhood, as they were both the ‘spawn of the devil’. This was felt the most when Morag faced the beginnings of her womanhood.

“Whit’s wrong wi’ ye?”

Morag and Sheena would often play together near the bridge over the burn at the bottom of Kildonnan Hill. Sometimes, they would go down to Laig Beach to play.

One day, when they were playing at Laig Beach, gathering shells, something happened.

Morag had suddenly let out a scream. She stood bolt upright, her eyes wide with terror. A whinnying sound came from her mouth. 

 “Whit’s wrong wi’ ye?” Sheena asked.

Morag stood still there on the beach with her legs slightly apart, blood streaming down her thighs, down along the curves of her calves, and even staining her socks. 

Sheena asked, “Hae ye cut yersel’? Th’ blood is running doon yer legs ‘n’ staining yer dress.” Sheena added, ”Oh Lord! Ah ken whit that is. It’s Auntie Flo – Auntie Red visiting you.”

“Whit’s happening tae me? Am ah goin tae die?” she asked her girlfriend. 

“No no, ye wull nae die. It juist means ye kin hae a bairn!” 
“What? Howfur dae ye know?” 
“Mah mither tellt me.” 
“We hae tae wash ye. We kin wash in th’ rock pool ower there.” 

They walked over to the rock pool, then Sheena sloshed some water over her girlfriend’s bloody thighs, venturing upwards to where the effusion was coming from.

“Dae nae titch me there!” sighed Morag.

“But we hae tae wash ye – ah wull be gentle wi’ you,” replied her girlfriend, as they stared intently at each other.  

Sheena pulled down Morag’s soiled and bloodied panties.

“Whit shall we dae wi’ mah dirty panties?” asked Morag.

“Dae nae be silly we wull bury thaim in th’ sand.”

Sheena took a handkerchief she had tucked up her sleeve, and placed it between Morag’s legs over her girly parts to stop the bleeding.

 “Howfur kin ah walk wi’ that atween mah legs?” Morag asked her friend. 

Sheena took two safety pins from the hem of her kilt, and pinned the handkerchief to Morag’s dress. 

Morag scooped up some wet sand nearby the rock pool, making a small grope in the sand so she could bury her soiled panties. She suddenly looked up when she heard a rustling sound nearby, behind some gorse bushes some twenty yards away, where the beach met the land.  She saw a pair of fascinated eyes in a dough-white face. It was Joanna, Minister Sinclair’s young daughter, who was hiding in the bushes, spying on them.

Morag ran towards her and grabbed her face, scratching her nose. Joanna screamed and jumped back. 

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Joanna ran all the way back to the minister’s manse to tell what she had seen. She told her mother: “A saw Morag ‘n’ Sheena oan th’ beach playing dirty ‘n’ nasty wi’ each ither, as if thay wur th’ devil’s ain children. N’ Morag scratched mah face!” she exclaimed out of breath to her mother, after she had run  all the way from the beach to the manse. 

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 Later that day, the news got back to Morag’s granny, Mary. 

When Morag walked through the door of the cottage her granny confronted her: “Whit hae ye bin daein’ ye dirty wee lassie? Playing dirty games wi’ ither girls?”

She took down the tawse from above the fireplace, and said, “Ah wid rather raise dirty pigs than dirty ‘n’ nasty wee girls – at least ah kin slaughter th’ pigs.” 

“Grandma, it’s nae true – we hae nae bin playing nasty,” Morag whined begging mercy. 

Her grandma grabbed her by the shoulder, turned her around, and gave her four stinging cuts across her upper thighs. 

“Was it somewhere near ‘ere ye wur playing nasty?” She asked her granddaughter. 

“Uou wantae to play nasty – ah dae nae think sae,” she said punctuating the lashes across her thighs with verbal remonstrances. For extra measure, she lashed her bare buttocks with two more strokes of the tawse. 

While she was whipping her thighs and buttocks, the safety pins holding the handkerchief fell away. 

“What th’ devil is this – mair dirty ‘n’ nasty,” screamed her grandmother.   

“It’s juist tae stop th’ blood,” Morag managed to utter between sobs. 

Her grandmother realised what was going on. She turned Morag towards her and pulled her towards her stomach. Her eyes were full of sorrow.  

“A’richt, a’richt, stoap greetin’, ah didnae ken,” her grandmother said in apology.    

Her grandmother explained to Morag, “You ur a wifie noo ‘n’ kin hae babies, sae be canny wi’ men.”   

Morag’s first menstruation reminded her of the dangers of becoming a woman and the victim of men’s rapacious desires, as had been the case with her mother, Mary.

And with that admonishment and warning from her grandmother, the conversation ended. 

Morag started to think about what her grandma had said. It’s true there was ‘something rising beneath her blouse.’ Her flat young girl breasts were starting to grow into small ‘apples.’ So she was almost a woman – although she didn’t exactly know what it meant. Other than that, Sheena had told her that men liked to look at and touch these small ‘apples.’ In other words, she is almost a woman.

She felt a certain pride in ‘becoming a woman’ and not just being a ‘bastard child.’ Her grandma had also said she was a “bonnie wee lassie” and that “Men wull waant tae hae ye.” But she soon forgot her grandma’s warning about men.¹ 

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A woman couldn’t own the tenancy to a croft. The only way for a woman to become a crofter was to marry a man that was a crofter. Amongst the ‘unwanted’ and ‘despised’ on the island were those ‘ugly’ women that never married —the spinsters. They would often end up as ‘domestic slaves’ living with relatives.

Morag had been ‘despised’ throughout her childhood as she was born out of wedlock. She certainly didn’t want to become an ‘unwanted’ spinster. Her friend Sheena’s mother, Moire McQuarrie, had lain sick in her bed for ten years withering away with little charity. Her husband Allister was a weak soul and unable to provide his family with their needs. Morag was a young girl, but in her mind, she thought she wanted a ‘strong’ husband that could provide her and her children with their needs. If any man could do that, it had to be the man she had met at the burn, Ruaridh Campbell, the strongest man on the island. 

Her life continued from day to day. Many years have now passed. But Ruaridh never appeared again at the burn. But then one day, she was interrupted by the most unexpected visitor she had never imagined…

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Full English Translation:

Much of the text regarding Morag’s first menstruation is transcribed into Scots English. Consequently, I will include the untranscribed text here:

Morag had suddenly let out a scream.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sheena asked.

Morag stood still there on the beach with her legs slightly apart, blood streaming down her thighs. 

Sheena asked, “Have you cut yourself? the blood is running down your legs and staining your dress.”

Sheena said, ”I know what it is – it’s menstruation’.”

Morag stood there on the beach with her legs slightly apart with the blood running down her legs. 

“What’s happening to me – am I going to die?” she asked her friend. 

“Nooo, you won’t die. It just means you can have a baby!” 

“What? How do you know?”

“My mama told me. We have to wash you. We can was you in the rock pool over there.”

The walked over to the rock pool, and Sheena sloshed some water over her girlfriends bloody thighs venturing upwards to where the effusion was coming from.

“Don’t touch me there!” sighed Morag.

“But we have to wash you – I’ll be gentle,” replied her girl friend, as they looked into each other’s eyes. 

Sheena pulled down Morag’s soiled and bloodied panties.

“What shall we do with them?” asked Morag.

“Don’t be silly we will bury them in the sand.”

Sheena took a handkerchief she had tucked up her sleeve, and placed between Morag’s legs over her girly-parts to stop the bleeding.

“How can I walk with that between my legs?” Morag asked her friend. 

Sheena took two safety pins form the hem of the kilt she was wearing, and pinned the handkerchief to Morag’s dress. 

Morag scooped up some wet sand nearby the rock pool making a small grope in the sand so she could bury her soiled panties. She suddenly looked up when she heard a rustling sound nearby behind some gorse bushes some twenty yards away where the beach met the land.  It was Joanna, Minister Sinclair’s young daughter who was hiding in the bushes spying on them.

Morag ran towards her and scratched her face. Joanna screamed and jumped back. 

***

Joanna ran all the way back to the minister’s manse to tell what she had had seen. She told her father: “I saw Morag and Sheena playing with each other on the beach as if they were the devil’s children,” she exclaimed to her mother, out of breath from all the running.

Later that day, the news got back to Morag’s granny, Mary. 

When Morag walked through the door of the cottage her granny confronted her: “What have you been doing you dirty little girl? Playing ‘dirty’ games with other girls?”

She took down the tawse from above the fireplace, and said “I would rather raise dirty pigs than dirty, naughty and nasty little girls – at least I can slaughter the pigs.”

“Grandma, it’s not true – we haven’t been playing nasty,” Morag whined beggingly. 

Her grandma grabbed her by her shoulder turned her around and gave her four stinging cuts across her upper thighs.

“Was it somewhere near here you were playing nasty?” She asked her granddaughter. 

“You want to play nasty – no you don’t,” she said punctuating the lashes across her thighs – and for extra measure lashed her bare buttocks with two more strokes of the tawse. 

While she was whipping her thighs and buttocks the safety pins holding the handkerchief fell away. 

“What’s this – more dirty and nasty,” screamed her grandmother. 

“It’s just to stop the blood,” Morag managed to utter between sobs. 

Her grandmother realised what was going on. She turned Morag and pulled her towards her stomach. Her eyes were full of sorry. 

“Alright, alright, stop crying. I didn’t know,” her grandmother said in apology.    

Her grandmother explained to Morag, “You’re a woman now and can have babies, so be careful with men.”  

Morag’s first menstruation reminded her of the dangers of becoming a woman and the victim of men’s rapacious desires, as had been the case with her mother Mary.

And with that admonishment and warning from her grandmother, the conversation ended. 

Morag started to think about what her grandma had said. It’s true there was “something rising beneath her blouse”. Her flat young girl breasts were starting to grow into small ‘apples’. So she was almost a woman – although she didn’t know exactly what this meant – other than that some of her girlfriends had told her that men liked these small ‘apples’. In other words, she is almost a woman.

She felt a certain pride in becoming a woman, and not just being a ‘bastard child’. She also took it in that her grandma had also said she was a “bonnie wee lassie” and that “men will be interested in you one day.” But she forgot her grandma’s warning about men. 

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Sources

1. ^{Morag’s first menstruation is freely adapted from Morrison, Toni. The Bluest Eye. Picador. 1979. Pages 19-22.}  ↩︎