Capital Union, A Read Free Page A

MacDougall say?’ asked Douglas.
    ‘Plenty, that’s for sure,’ Jeff replied.
    He was right as it turned out, and I only thought later that Douglas’ joke had got in the way, and that Jeff hadn’t answered me.
    After we had eaten, Douglas gave us a tune on the piano. Jeff sang in his bonny baritone, and gave us a Gaelic air or two, which Douglas joined in with on the chorus. Jeff’s dad was a Highlander and used to take him up north in the summer on a grand tour of aunties and uncles on Skye.
    ‘You’ll need to give me a hand with translating Sorley’s poems, Jeff,’ said Douglas. ‘I had forgotten you were all but a native speaker. I am hoping to get his
An Cuilithionn
published in Lallans. I think the poor sod is fighting in Africa at the moment. He was a bit quick to sign up, having missed the Spanish Civil War.’
    ‘Scope there then for an Arabic edition, too,’ said Jeff, ‘if the Germans ease off.’
    ‘
Tapadh leat,
’ said Douglas, ‘I’ll be sure and suggest it to him in my next letter.’
    Douglas left at nine o’clock for a train to Aberdeen. He was a lecturer in Ancient Greek at the university, although I don’t know what use that was to anyone. On my way out to the back green to get the washing, I passed Mrs MacDougall on the stair. She said she noticed we’d had a visitor, as if it had acapital letter or something, and I said yes we had. It was Mr Douglas Grant, and she said, not that rotten nationalist chap? I replied that he was very nice and she just sort of snorted and said well, he needn’t think he could climb on Graham’s Dyke and hold the Romans back a second time, because everything was different now, and Hitler wasn’t going to stop at Scotland just because men like Mr Grant thought they were too fancy to fight. I didn’t like the sharp way she said it and I told her he was busy with very important things, and Jeff was helping him. Mrs MacDougall said I was a bonny fool, and I don’t think she meant it kindly. Maybe she had noticed the stour I’d left under her mat, and was cross with me.
    I ran down the rest of the steps. The air smelt sweet and I unpegged my washing and held it to my face. I loved the smell of soap and grass. I was full from the rabbit stew and I thought everything would be fine again soon. Perhaps the war would end before I lifted the tatties in the autumn and Jeff could stay safe at the university.
    Upstairs, although I was tired, I set the iron to heat on the range and it sizzled when I spat on it to test if it was hot. Jeff said it was unladylike but I told him real ladies didn’t need to iron so he better get used to it if he wanted his skivvy to put creases in his shirt sleeves. He said he was glad to know he would look his best at the SNP annual conference, but I was cross because he hadn’t told me he would be out at the weekend, too. I hardly saw him, and now people like Douglas were being taken to court, I felt worried. It was only because I started to greet that he said I could come with him if I was so upset, and that Douglas would be speaking. He patted his knee and I went to him and cooried in like a bairn.
    ‘We’ll find a way through this, Pip,’ he said. ‘The war can’t last much longer.’

4
    That Saturday was very hot for the time of year, so we decided to walk down to the conference on Shandwick Place rather than wait for a tram. It was always so smoky and everyone smelt so bad, squeezed together like sardines. I put on my new dress, which I had run up from a bolt of blue cloth my mother had in the attic. The utility stuff was too thin. I sewed small, puffed sleeves and put pearl buttons down the front. The skirt wasn’t as full as I would have liked, but I didn’t want to look as if I was using more than my fair share of the cloth ration, so I kept some back for a blouse. Jeff thought I looked bonny when I gave him a twirl, and after I pinned on my straw hat with the red ribbon we were ready to go. I took his arm on the way