Page 74 of Little Wing
But poor Iain. For one so small your presence is everywhere and you have taken over his house. Every chair-back has a muslin square or baby clothes draped over to dry. There are buckets of nappies soaking, bowls of bottles. You have more wardrobe changes in a day than royalty, young lady! It’s midwinter now and there are seldom days dry enough to peg the washing outside. I say sorry to Iain all the time but he just says ‘Ach!’ and blows raspberries on your tum while you grab on tight to his whiskers.
Before I came here, to Harris, all I wanted to know was how long I’d have to be here, when I could go. But I haven’t been here even a year and I know for sure I will never leave. Not because George told me that I must stay, but because I don’t want to be anywhere else. Where else would we go anyway? Where else would have us? Here, in Harris, I want for nothing more than to be here with you.
Winter. Days upon end when the icy blasts of gale-force winds are vicious. It seems to be a very very long season. And dark – there’s not much light now. Day after day of rain and more rain – often with wind I’m convinced could move the entire house and an angry sea that can savage the beach night after night. The rain washed part of the road right away last week. The gale brought sand right to the front door. The hills raged with churning, charging water and the storm last week mashed the seaweed into thick foam. I’d never before heard what truly wild weather sounds like. But weather doesn’t last for ever and there are some days when it’s dry, even bright. There are flocks of snow bunting wintering in the machair. There are rockpools to explore. There are days when it’s calm and afternoons when the rain stops and the sun breaks through and there’s a watergaw – a floating portion of sudden rainbow pouring out between the clouds. There are nights when it’s clear, when it’s cold and still and the Northern Lights – theFir Chlis– sing out across the blackness.
Nurse Keaton – she often says call me Sophia, but I like calling her Nurse Keaton – brought me a special sling and taught me how to tie it. I love it because it’s a trippy batik design in soft strong cotton and she showed me how to wrap you up and fix you against me. And that’s how we walk for miles each day, Little Wing! If it looks like rain I wear Iain’s enormous waterproof coat, with a couple of buttons undone so you can see where we’re going. Me with you like a human kangaroo.
We found something this morning, you and me. Since then, I’ve done my usual singing and cooking and boiled the nappies and a hundred other things, but half my mind has been fixed on what we saw.
It’s a small cottage – just over the way there – at Luskentyre and it’s for rent. We went up to the windows and tried to see in and then I laughed at myself for forgetting that this is Harris and we don’t need to lock ourselves in or anyone out. So we opened the door and stepped inside. There’s a small, light sitting room, a tiny kitchen and next to that a room with a tin bath and a sink and a rack from the ceiling for drying. The loo is in a lean-to fixed against the house. We tiptoed around whispering, even though the place was empty. We went upstairs where there were two little rooms in the roof. Everything is small but plenty big enough.
What do you think, Nell? I said.
And you kicked your little legs about so much that I took your answer to be a resounding Yes!
Of the £20 George gave me, I still have over £17 left.
I’ll ask Iain if he knows anything and if he doesn’t Nurse Keaton surely will.
I can’t wait to show Jessie.
Flora & Nell Buchanan
Am Bothan Geal
Luskentyre
Harris
Our address!!!
Am Bothan Geal means the White Cottage. I have given £3 to Mr MacDonald who owns it but he said I’ll be doing him a favour just keeping the weather out.
My very own place. Honestly – how lucky am I? How many people my age have what I have? I can’t believe it!
Iain said I didn’t have to go. He also said we can always come back. I said Iain, I can practically see your back door from my front door! I said Iain, when the tide is right out we can walk across the sands to you. And it’s only two miles by the road. I told him that, before we know it, Nell will be going to the little school in Seilebost. I said Iain, I want to put roots down for Nell and me – right here, in Harris, a stone’s throw from you.
Despite my excitement, it was so hard leaving Iain’s house, the house where my daughter was born, the home that was open to me when I had nowhere else to go. It was desperately hard leaving Iain. I have grown to love him like another father. He and Nell adore one another. There were tears. He tried to hide his from me but mine gushed out uncontrollably. For some reason, it gave Nell fits of giggles so, amongst the sadness of the day, happiness reigned.
Our home has a table and two chairs. We have an armchair and a wooden stool, a short bookcase and a fireplace and a rug. We have a bed big enough for both of us for the time being until Jessie’s father brings over their cot. I’m in no rush, I love sleeping alongside my baby.
We have food in the kitchen cupboard, a stack of peat outside and gas for the Tilleys. And the Van comes twice a week if we don’t feel like a trip to Tarbert. We have nothing to complain about and everything to be thankful for. There is a little land at the back and I’ll plant potatoes and carrots. Peas in the summer. We even have neighbours about a quarter of a mile away and they have a toddler. We have Iain a couple of miles around the bay. We have visitors all the time.
Often, I stand at the windows with my baby, just gazing out at the views for ages. Or we cuddle up in bed in the mornings, in the armchair in the evenings, just marvelling at the steady walls around us.
Best of all, though, best of all is what’s outside.
On the other side of the path, towards the sea, there is a small stone building I didn’t even know about.
As I stood in there looking out beyond the dunes, I sensed the power of the sea and the energy from the sky propelling an even, fresh light straight into the building. And then the revelation came. I don’t know what the place had been used for, but it’s going to be a studio. Its roof is sound and the stone floor is level but it is missing a wall where it faces the sea. Iain said not to worry about that, he says it’s an easy enough job to fix.
So I AM going to be an artist.
I shall paint my pictures and sell them and then one day, perhaps I can buy the White Cottage from Mr MacDonald.
Flora Buchanan. Mother. Artist. This is who I am.
Tuesday
