Tales from the Tent Read Online Free PDF Page B

call and was among them. Mother, being of delicate stature, found life without her man unlivable, so within a year
took her place in the ground at his side. I had to be strong for Tommy. You see my young brother developed a stutter, and became the butt of endless jibes and jokes. One day before his tenth
birthday his teacher asked me not to take him back to the school.
    As he grew he became more and more withdrawn. No matter how hard I tried to love and protect him, Tommy found life unbearably hard. One dark winter night while a blizzard covered the country, my
young brother walked out, barefooted and nothing on except pants and a thin simmit. I found him clutching a piece of paper. He was frozen dead. Scribbled on the paper was : ‘I love you
sister, but every night when I fall asleep those three strangers come back, I have to find peace. Forgive me, Tommy.’
    My brother died before reaching the age of seventeen.

    ‘Oh Mac, you might have picked a story to cheer me up, that is so, so sad,’ I told him.
    ‘Funny is it ye want—well, here’s a wee laugh for you.’
    Mac closed his bulky journal and lit up a fag. Full-strength Capstan he smoked. Why did folks feel the need to kill themselves and call it enjoyment? This always made me think that we adults are
stupid. But back to things in hand (and not Mac’s fag by the way). No, this next wee tale was perhaps his way of cheering me up. All the more because the folks involved are relatives of
mine.

 
    6
    SANDY ’ S KILT

    S andy the piper was more than pleased with his day’s takings. Well, that’s understandable, because was oor lad no’ just the
country’s best piper. He’d spent the better part of that July day on his favourite spot at the Pass o’ Killiecrankie, piping tune after tune for Scotland’s culture-keen
tourists. Weary but happy, he’d wandered home, which was a snug wee wood-end on the outskirts of Pitlochry, to share his hard earned shillings with the dearest love of his life—bonnie
Jeannie. When our hardy piper arrived, a grand plate of thick vegetable broth was waiting, followed by a heel-end of the best bread spread over with streaky bacon, to be swallowed down with
Jeannie’s milky tea.
    ‘Ye ken this, my love, if ever a man had an angel for a wife, then he stands here in front o’ ye.’
    ‘And I’m the maist fortunate woman tae have Scotland’s finest piper lay at ma side every night.’
    Yes, an air of fine contentment spread itself over the little bended tent that teatime, and the bairns, all seven of them, played in amongst a forest floor of soft moss and grass fern.
    Jeannie told Sandy that while in the town earlier she had met a dozen or so lads here for the games. She said his cousins and brothers were there, and why not go meet up with them for a dram.
Sandy was grateful to his lass, but thought it might not be wise to drink the night before his crème de la crème piping event of the year. But Jeannie said she trusted him
enough not to overdo the swallowing.
    Now, perhaps this is the best time to tell you about Sandy’s other love—his late father’s Black Watch kilt. This said garment had been passed down to Sandy by old Sandy, and
his intention was to do likewise for his own eldest son, wee Sandy, who was becoming a grand piper in his own right. The family were totally convinced that this garment of pitch-black and forest
green held the power of all their good fortune.
    ‘Take off the kilt, ma man, and wear troosers. I’ve a pair I hawked from an old gamekeeper. They’re a wee bit coorse, them being rough tweed, but they’ll do for a meeting
wi’ the lads,’ advised Jeannie.
    ‘Na, lassie, this is games weekend, everybody will be in the kilt. I’d look right oot o’ place in troosers, folk would think me an Englishman.’
    ‘Very well, but mind an’ take good care o’ yer faither’s kilt.’
    Sandy walked off briskly, near a whole jar of Brylcreem splattering his sideburns. To meet up for a